The Power of Three
by Lee Fey
Summary: There's about to be a great deal of trouble for Wayne Logan, the incredible Darkclaw. He is going to be surprised with his alter egos: Logan and Bruce Wayne, the Wolverine and Batman respectively.
1. The Beginning

A sound. Again, it wouldn't stop. He was wide awake and aware before he even opened his eyes. His ears were spiked; he tried to pinpoint the sound, but it was elusive. That's when he sat up, and opened his eyes, because he knew that a sound that was elusive for him was meant to be silent. His eyes scanned the darkness, which was as daylight to him. He could see every nook and cranny, easily and simply. Not a single thing stood out.

Yet the padding persisted. Now that he had his eyes open, he had a better handle on direction, and knew that whatever the sound was was not inside his room.

It was on the stairs.

He stealthily slid out of his covers and to his feet. He tiptoed his way to his door, and put his ear up to the wood.

As the footsteps got closer, he could feel his senses sharpen even further, his hearing starting to alert him of everything, his vision expanding to show him more and more. A heartbeat, one ever so gentle, was beating purposefully on the other side of this door. He could feel the tremors of the person's light footsteps as they shuddered through the flooring up his legs.

"Darkclaw," the voice, though quiet, was like a cannon shot, it was so unexpected. He jumped, and spun towards his own bed, where the voice came from, and through the moment of ashamed surprise, he felt the jolt of pain as his claws tore through the flesh of his fists, pushing out between his knuckles, glistening in the slickness of the moonlight and his own blood.

The intruder's hands were up, in a sign of obvious non-violence, which put him off guard, until he realized who it was.

"Dare," he felt like the growl that rumbled from his throat was as loud as a jet plane's engines. He was sure that if not of the same decibel, it surely held the same force, the same declaration of power. He took a step forward, his heart easing, but his caution still blaring. He withdrew his claws.

The door opened. He didn't turn; he already knew who it was. The aroma on the easy breeze the door's movements caused simply reassured him.

"We need your help," Catsai answered. He sat down at the chair by the fireplace, to indicate that he was listening. "Big Question has decided to try to get us out of the picture, to have full control over New Gotham."

"That's not new. Why do you need my help?"

"He's pulling out the big guns. He's freed Hyena from Arkham Tower, reassembled his 'pack', and gave him full partnership of the proceeds. The deal is, as Big Question can be the public face, Hyena will have more coverage on the underground."

The mention of Hyena got Darkclaw's attention, but he still didn't see anything that would make them care so much to get his help. They knew it too.

"They have hostages. They've been collecting them for some time. They are all strategically chosen though. Your opponents. They have ways of making it look like you killed them. You have left bodies behind before." Dare simply looked at him. They never got along as well as they might have, but he assuredly respected her, and she him.

This was why they told him. Because he was the new duo's first target and public defamation. As long as the people of New Gotham wanted him caught, there wouldn't be much that would stop the police from coming after him. For instance, Big Question had the police in his grasp, and as long as he had public approval, he had every right to come after Darkclaw.

This would be interesting.


	2. Around the Bend

It was a cold night. As he looked out over Gotham City, he could feel its heart. It was a dark city, one full of hatred and bitterness. But underneath all that was a bright heart, one that survived for the sheer stubbornness of survival. Families that loved each other, lovers and friends, all spending time together because that's what produced joy. But there were others, he could feel, that had given up on all things good. Their last satisfaction was drawn from another bottle, or another needle, or another whore. Those were the hopeless ones, the ones he was here for, to show that there really was a hope.

Batman kept still next to the stone gargoyle, knowing that a cursory glance, even from this close to the dance club, would not reveal his position. Not to someone who wasn't looking for him.

He watched as they came out of the club. Three girls, followed by a pack of at least six or seven guys. The men were calling, jeering. At first the girls liked it, basking in the lustful desires that came their way. But the men began to get louder, and closer to the girls. They began to yell back. He watched as the men surrounded them, pushing them back into an alleyway. He heard the screams, the sound of them fearful, not in pain. At least, not yet.

He moved. He swung to across the street, straight for the alleyway. With his night vision, he could see very well in the dark alley. His landing was so well done, so quiet, not a single soul noticed as he crept up behind the closest loser.

"Do we have a problem?" He heard himself say, a dark, rumbling facsimile of his normal voice. Actually, he had grown so accustomed to it, he considered this to be his normal voice, not the one he was born with.

"No way," one of the guys gasped. "You can't be real. You're not real!" He tried to run past, but Batman caught him in the ribs with his steel toed boot. He was on the ground, groaning and moaning, all out of breath. The others scampered away, even the ladies.

Batman grabbed the next closest punk, and kicked the next. Pulling the man within inches of his own face, he growled.

"Am I ever going to see you bother these ladies again?" He asked, murder in his voice. The man shook his head, tears coming down his face. Batman could hear as urine trickled onto the pavement. The man's feet dangled in the air, and Batman could hear him whimper. He threw him back, to be caught by one of his friends.

"Leave," he commanded, stepping aside to let the men through. They all scampered away, picking up their fallen comrade. The ladies simply stared at him, unknowing of how to act next.

"Thank you," one girl offered, smiling. He nodded. With that, the girls started to walk off too. Batman was soon on the rooftops of Gotham again.

This was his purpose. This was the reason he existed. To show people that they shouldn't have to fear the world around them. To give them reason to celebrate their lives. To stop anyone from having to suffer as he did.

He followed the girls home, just to make sure they got their safely. He was so preoccupied, he berated himself when his stalker made himself known.

"Batman," his voice rang over the air. He was behind him, above him. He turned to see a good friend, one whose feet never need touch the ground.

"Superman," Batman nodded. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence in my humble city?"

"Luthor," Superman landed next to his old friend. The name rang familiar to Batman. Of course it did. Lex Luthor was the world's richest CEO. He was the head of LuthorCorp, the world's greatest corporation, even bigger than Wayne Enterprises. Luthor's been after Wayne Enterprises for quite some time, frustrated that its playboy owner, Bruce Wayne, wouldn't sell his shares.

"What about him?"

"He's got his sights on Gotham."

"Again? I thought after No Man's Land, he would have learned his lesson."

"Apparently not," Superman shrugged.

"I've dealt with him before," Batman concluded.

"But now he's got his sights on you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, he's bent on getting you out of the way. He figures, once you're locked up, Gotham will go down the drain, and he can clean up when Gotham needs a hand out of the gutter."

"What do you think?"

"I think he's probably right, about you being the only reason Gotham's afloat. There's too much crime here to think that businesses can go on as normal without you. You provide a blanket of protection for the legitimate side of Gotham. And, as bad as Gotham is, without you it'll just get worse."

"So he really means to pull me into the courts, does he?"

Superman's silence was answer enough. Batman nodded.

This would be very interesting.


	3. As the World Turns

"Jim," Logan looked up in an instant of familiarity and recognition. Then that instant was gone, and he wondered why the name 'Jim' had been so familiar.

"Jimmy Howlette," the voice grated in Logan's ears as he turned to face the man.

"Sorry, Bub, but you got the wrong guy," Logan smiled amiably.

"Jim, don't you recognize me? It's Steve," the guy seemed really nervous, looking around a little. "We were in the War together." He looked at Logan as if begging for help. The guy was probably in trouble. And Logan had nothing to do that night 'cept get drunk anyhow. Then something triggered, and recognition did come.

"I do know you," he pointed, nodding his head. "You're the Cap." He had never imagined that he'd meet the legend in person, outside of uniform. The last time they had seen each other, and the first time they had met as far as Logan was concerned, was on the battlefield. But it wasn't in no war. Not in the strictest sense of the word. No, it was against a group of runaway Sentinels.

"Ssshh," Captain America's, because Logan could think of him no other way, eyes widened in panic. "Jeez," he half whispered, half snarled, "why not let the whole world know."

"Right," Logan caught himself. He didn't think that the alcohol had affected him that much that quickly. "Sorry. Have a seat." He indicated to the chair across from him. The Cap nodded and slipped into the chair sluggishly. It looked like he had been on the run for days now.

"Steve, you said it was?"

The Cap only nodded.

"You look like what I planned to be tomorrow morning."

"I need your help. You're the only one I trust."

Probably top-secret. The Avengers were the country's national "superhero" team. The X-Men, the team Logan was a part of, was almost the black sheep of the "superhero" community, the uncle no respectable team spoke about. The X-Men were the scapegoats of much of the world's problems, even with Xavier's attempts at public acceptance. Mutants had it rough.

"Why me?"

"Because I know you. We have history. Don't you remember?"

Logan wondered if this was some kind of a test, or a really bad joke. "I don't know you. I never met you before that time with the Sentinels."

"Oh, wow, what did they do to you in that Weapon X program?"

A chill went down Logan's adamantium plated spine. His eyes narrowed on the Cap's. What did he know?

"We were in World War Two together. Your name was James Howlette. You were a pilot. None of this is ringing any bells?"

Logan simply stared. "Look, I ain't in the mood for games, Bub. What are you gettin' at?"

"You remember only up to fifteen years ago, right?"

Logan nodded.

"Did you think that was the beginning of your life? We served together, before you volunteered for the Program."

Logan's blood began to boil. "You think I'd volunteer for pain like that? They destroyed mah soul, you good-for-nothing."

"Nevertheless, you did volunteer for it. At the time, everyone was worried about the Soviets, and you wanted to help the cause. You always did. You were always a good man, and honest man. That's why I need your help."

"Okay, so, for a moment, let's say I believe you. Or, at the very least, am willing to listen to what you got to say. What's goin' on?"

"The Red Skull. He's somehow got a hold of some kind of mind-altering drug that makes suggestion very easy-"

"Suggestion?"

"Hypnosis. He's got my allies somehow in his web. He's trying to demoralize me. Make me run for my life. He's off to a good start."

This was terrible news. If a terrorist could get to Captain America, what hope did the rest of the country have?

"So why me?"

"I tried to think of someone I trusted, but the Skull wouldn't have thought of. You were my first choice. It's been years since we've even talked to each other. But even during the War, you were an honest man."

"You're gettin' somewhere with all your compliments. What do you want from me?"

"A place to lie low, until I can figure out how to apprehend the Red Skull and stop him from affecting my friends anymore."

"Fair enough," Logan nodded. "You up for a drink?"

"I'd like to keep my head about me, thanks."

Logan shrugged, and took another swig of his pint. He let Captain America's situation settle in his mind. As he dozed out for a heartbeat, he picked up a very familiar scent. Hearing the Cap's story, he could guess as to why he noticed it now.

"Come on," he stood up very suddenly. The Cap followed suit, not questioning. He was a soldier, and he still knew how to take orders.

They made their way out of the bar, into the night air, which was frigid and exhilarating as it rolled across them like a wave on a beach. As they moved faster, Logan could hear the pitter-pats of footsteps. They were keeping pace, and desperately trying to stay quiet. He knew the source.

"Get on," Logan pointed to a bike beside his own. Captain America nodded, and followed orders. "Go here," he pulled out a business card, which had been given quite some time ago. The Captain roared the bike to life, and was off in a heartbeat.

With the prey out of the picture, all Logan had to worry about now was himself, and he never worried about that too much. He felt the sting, the familiar sting, as his claws pierced his skin. Letting them rest at his sides, he turned around.

"Hello, Elektra."


	4. And So It Begins Again

"Welcome, Mr. Logan," Edward Nigma Fisk, the mayor of Gotham City, reached his massive hand out across his desk as one of Gotham's most beloved children stepped into his door.

"Mr. Mayor," Logan chided back as his own solid, though smaller, hand reached for Fisk's, "please, you know you can always called me Wayne."

"I suppose, as we are just going out to play golf, that it wouldn't hurt. Of course, the invitation goes both ways. You may call me Ed."

"Very well, Ed. So, how do the greens look today?"

"Wonderful, Wayne. The skies are blue and the sun is shining. Not too humid, and there's a nice, cool breeze."

"Then let's go play some golf." Logan felt the masking personality take on a life of its own. He was genuinely happy to go play golf. It had been so long since he could just enjoy himself. But his core, the kernel of truth in his soul was still the soldier, was still Darkclaw, watching and observing every move Fisk performed. He was still the Big Question after all.

It didn't take too long for them to get to the golf course. The most highly acclaimed in the entire Gotham area. That's why these two very important men of Gotham had the privilege to golf there.

Conversation was light enough, at least at first. Logan could feel Fisk trying to warm him up. At about the third hole, Fisk started talking about the main reason why he had invited Gotham's most renowned philanthropist to play golf.

"Wayne, in the past, you have always been one of Gotham's most noble knights. You have stood up for her poor; you have fought for her sick. You are one of the few that keep her on her feet, as wobbly as she may be."

"Is something coming up?"

"I know that, throughout the years, you have done everything you can to keep ruffians from the streets of Gotham. A project is coming up, one that I think that might make an example of one of Gotham's most renowned ruffians. Once he is out of the way, everyone will see that we mean business when it comes to criminals, even vigilantes, no matter how noble their intentions."

Of course, Logan realized. This was the very first step in the concerted effort by Big Question and Hyena to take down Darkclaw. Big Question might have been one to come up with such a scheme, but he would rarely be the one to give up any sort of control, especially to someone as unstable as the Hyena. There had to be something behind this. But for now, Logan had to worry about the situation at hand.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about."

"The menace, Darkclaw. He is a symbol to criminals just as much as to normal citizens. He goes on, taking the law into his own hands, showing criminals just how soft law enforcement really is on crime, all sorts of crime."

"Are you saying Darkclaw really exists?"

"The police have had to deal with cleaning up his messes for years now."

"Really? Well, I think that whoever feels like they have to run around the city in a costume probably has some serious issues. What did you have in mind?"

"Well, we have leads on Darkclaw's latest movements. According to our sources, he intends to take out his political foes. Our theories are based on the ideas that he might think that once his foes are out of the picture, he'll be free to extend the boundaries of his domain."

Where did he get his information? Logan wondered. Of course, he was making it all up. He hadn't connected the dots, and was hoping to get some money to fund his hunt of Darkclaw. Logan nodded. He would play along with this scheme.

"How horrible. I will do anything necessary to help you in your endeavors."

"Wonderful."

"Then," Logan acted, "it's just a matter of how much money we had in mind."

"Ever the sly one, Wayne." Fisk smiled curtly, swinging his nine-iron.

By the time they got back, Logan was already trying to come up with some excuse to leave early. Fisk decided to wait until they got to the office in order to conduct important business.

"Thank you for inviting me on this little outing," Logan said, once they got to the Mayor's office.

"Of course, Mr. Logan," Fisk curtly nodded. Now that he had sucked up enough to get his money, he was all suits and ties again.

"Now, how much exactly was it you needed?"

"Well, we'll need at least thirty thousand dollars to get this off the ground."

Logan whipped out his checkbook, and pulling out a pen, he wrote a check for one million dollars.

"Maybe this can be of use."

Fisk looked down at the check, and as his eyes widened, they narrowed again especially quickly. He looked up, over Logan's shoulder, and they narrowed even more for just a moment. Then his face rippled as he presented another mask.

"You know," Fisk said softly, "I've heard critics say that your works are reminiscent of what they call 'feral slashes'." Immediately Logan's senses sharpened. Something was wrong, but he couldn't figure out what.

He turned, and high on the wall behind him, above the door, he saw one of his oldest works, canvas with acrylic paint. "I've heard those critiques before," Logan answered honestly, "what do you think?"

"I'm not sure I see what they're talking about. No doubt your works are saturated with emotion, even rage sometimes, but I do not think I see these slashes they're talking about.

"Anyway," Fisk seemed to come out of his strange mood. "Thank you Mr. Logan. This will most definitely go to very good use. In fact, there will be a ball, a banquet, at the Museum in two weeks. It will be a fundraiser. One thousand dollars a plate. Please, I would be very honored if you were to come."

"Of course," Logan nodded. "I do have to get going though, Mr. Mayor. If you'll excuse me?"

"Of course."

And with that, Logan walked away. He was so preoccupied by Fisk's strange behavior that he barely noticed the throngs of cameras and paparazzi right outside the city hall entrance. He got into his limo, which had his beloved Alfred at the wheel, and in a moment, they were gone.


	5. The Second Front

"He's waiting for you," Superman could hear the voices in Batman's earpiece just as well as Batman did. He knew exactly what Batman was picking up on his police scanners.

"I know," Batman knew he had to stop the Joker, because no one else would. According to the reports though, the Joker had something up his sleeve. Batman was afraid to find out what.

But people were counting on him. And every second he stayed here, was a second wasted. Yet, he could not bring himself to move.

"Hhhmm," Joker's voice was muted over the airwaves. The police must have given him a radio to communicate his demands through. "Well, this is an art show, right? I was kind of in the mood to create some, and look at all these canvases."

As screams began to play over the radio, Batman knew that when the Joker mentioned canvases, he wasn't speaking literally. That shocked him into motion.

In a moment, he was standing at the entrance of the Gotham Museum of Fine Art. Apparently, Joker's one demand was Batman. Now he knew that he might be in for something horrible.

"Joker!" He roared as he walked down the main hall. He could hear the groans of people coming from the expansive main exhibition hall. As he stepped in, they all stopped.

"We're sorry," one woman said quietly as he walked in, "he said that if we didn't scream and moan, he'd kill us each and make us part of the gallery."

Batman ignored her, for he knew now that it was all just a trap. He barely took another step when a big rig hit him from behind, sending him flying against the wall. As he tried to stand, he turned to see what it was. There stood Joker, decked from neck to toe in a suit that Batman recognized as a copy of Steel's suit. That was the joke. Finally getting Batman, simply by overpowering him.

Batman stood in defiance, never letting his internal weakness show. He must maintain his image. Joker's laughing face seemed exceptionally jovial as his arm swung and connected with Batman's face, sending him flying again, literally head over heels. When he hit the ground a second time, he felt as his blood coursed through his body, convincing his mind momentarily that he really wasn't as hurt as he knew he must have been.

He leapt to his feet, flying into the air with the tug of his own grappler. Releasing it, he flipped around, coming to be on the other side of Joker. He whipped out several small bombs, and as he quickly noticed that Joker's face was exposed, he let them fly. First a flash with a loud bang, both muffled by Batman's own equipment. Then, thick smoke quickly filled the room.

"Your parlor tricks won't help you Batman," Joker said with a giggle. Batman saw through the smoke, and watched as Joker stumbled around blindly. Batman may have thirty seconds at best. He pulled out a bola, and quickly let it loose. As it wrapped around Jokers feet, his stumbling caused him to fall.

For the moment, Batman thought he had bought a couple more seconds, but as he closed in on the fallen form of Joker, he heard a resounding snap as the steel cables of the bola were broken like so much twine. It was too late, and Joker was up and Batman in the air again before he knew what was happening. As his broken form slid to the ground, the pain finally resounded loudly in his ears. He was glad for the opaque eyelets that kept Joker from seeing the tears silently streaming down his face.

"Oh, Batman," Joker's voice was mockingly sympathetic. "You see now, don't you?"

Batman let out what he could, a cracking grunt.

"All it took was a little extra power. And now all your trouble, all your petty games, all your effort, was for nothing." Joker kneeled, his mechanical suit quietly grinding. The smile on his face was wider than ever. "From my point of view, can you see just how funny that might be for me?"

"You're a monster," another voice rang over the air. Joker turned, and Batman could see the floating form of Superman over Joker's shoulder.

"They warned me about you," Joker sneered.

"Funny," Superman shot back, "you were never mentioned to me."

And with that, the two of them flew at each other. It was so fast, not even Batman's visual compensators could capture the action. And just as quickly, they parted. Joker's mouth spit blood as his suit was dented all over. He began to laugh.

"I thought you might find this funny," Superman said darkly as he slowly stepped closer to Joker's fallen form. At that, Joker's laugh roared all the louder.

"I told you," Joker tried saying through his laughter, "they told me about you."

And in a moment, the room was filled with an eerie green glow. Batman groaned in recognition. In a moment, Superman too was on the ground, scrambling away from the kryptonite in Joker's open hand. He made his way over to Batman, slowly but surely.

"Help me," Superman gasped. Batman barely nodded, through sheer force of will pulled a batarang out of his belt. It snapped open as he set up to throw it, and with one last iota of strength, he flung it at Joker's hand. The green crystal flew across the room, far enough away for Superman to have enough strength to move again. As Batman's vision failed and his consciousness gave, he felt Superman's arms pick him up.


	6. A Lost Flame

"Logan," her voice was velvety, just as he remembered it, "don't do this. I don't want to have to hurt you."

"A lil' too late for that, ain't it hon?" He felt his eyes water, which only happened when his heart hurt. He was too used to physical pain to let that get to him anymore.

"I will not hold back. If you are forcing me to go through you to get to him, I will. Please, just back away from the situation."

"Who hired you? How did someone get Cap'n America scared and running like that?"

"I can't tell you that. You know how it works."

"Yeah. I know how it works. You were willing to break the rules once."

"Never again." Her words were made of iron. He nodded. They would be hard to get around. But one thing about iron. It was no match for adamantium.

"Then let's get to doing what you came here to do."

"I didn't come here for you."

"You did. You just didn't know it then."

She nodded. Her form began to shift to the right, and Logan allowed himself to gently flow in that direction too. Her sais were moved and flowed in here hands, spinning and whirling like fans of death. He knew the ninja teachings of theatricality. She was trying to draw his attention away from something.

Suddenly, ninja stars were in the air. He heard them whistle for his neck. Lifting his arm, he felt the pinpricks as they embedded themselves in his arm instead. He brushed his arm, and heard the tinkling as the metal stars hit the ground. The moment of pain gave her the window she needed. When he looked up, all he saw were her sais coming straight for him.

In an instant, he felt years of experience and an embedded instinctual training take over his body. He fell backwards, underneath her sais. His legs came up, and he kicked up, flipping her over himself. He kept his claws away from her, as he didn't really want to hurt her too bad. He leapt up to his feet as soon as she was over, and faced her. She was already on her feet.

"Please don't do this," he begged. He knew what she was thinking. She felt like she had to go through with this, and really wanted him to stand down. She probably also knew that he had to protect the Cap, and couldn't stand down.

She answered by taking a couple of steps forward and jabbing at him with a sai. He shifted out of the way, and swung with his claw. He would heal any wounds she gave him. She wasn't so fortunate. She barely got out of the way.

She swung and jabbed. He parried and swung back. She dodged. A bystander would see a beautiful dance of death performed by two masters. Their moves and countermoves not only were reminiscent of dance, but also a chess match. Checkmate was only a few moves away.

Until finally, Elektra was on the ground, her chest heaving for breath, three ever sharp claws at her neck.

"It's too late now," he whispered, almost out of breath himself; it had been that close. "He's already at Xavier's by now. There's no way you'll get anywhere near him without getting a killer migraine."

She nodded. "So what will you do?"

"I'll let you go."

"Then I'll get to him again."

"I'm sure that if there's anyone who can do it, darlin', it's you." And with that, he withdrew his claws, turned around, and walked away. When he got on his own bike, he turned, and saw that she had disappeared. He nodded. "I still love you, darlin'."

And with that, he was off.


	7. The First Assault

His jaw was still sore. After three hours. Ridiculous. His whole body itched from the healing it was trying to perform. He was overworked. He could barely keep his consciousness as Sparrow piloted the Clawcopter home.

"-Okay?" His attention was spiked as he realized Sparrow was talking to him.

"What?"

"Are you okay? You seem really out of it. You're scaring me."

"I'll be fine. You know that. I'm just tired."

"That's what's scaring me. With your healing factor, exhaustion is hard to come by. The fact that you're tired scares me."

"Just get me home. I just need a good night's rest."

"Got it."

And all was quiet for a moment. Darkclaw again slipped into a stupor. But a sudden swerve of the 'Copter sent a jolt of adrenaline through his system.

"What was that?" He demanded forcefully.

"Heat seeking missile, hot on our trail."

"I'll take the controls. Shoot it out of the sky."

"Got it."

As they switched, Darkclaw grabbed the stick, and quickly swerved so that their side was facing the oncoming missile. Sparrow had one chance, or they would get shot down. He watched her outstretched arm as from it burst forth a great stream of light and color. The missile quickly flew into the oncoming flow of plasma and energy. It quickly burst into the giant explosion that was meant for them.

"Good job, kiddo," Darkclaw smiled. "Now take the controls back before I lose the adrenaline high."

She listened immediately. As they landed, he was barely there. He barely noticed as he got out of the plane and made his way to his room, his closet and from there down to the Barrow. Alfred was already there, helping him get undressed, and into his night clothes. He barely noticed as they went back up to his bedroom, and he barely noticed as Alfred helped him get into bed and tucked him in.

And he didn't noticed anything after that.


	8. A Small Clue

He looked up from the hospital bed. He wasn't in a hospital though. His Batcave, ever since he started beating himself up with the whole superhero gig, was outfitted with an infirmary section. He needed it a lot. And after Bane, he really made sure that it had a full regiment of all medical supplies.

But none of that mattered at the moment. All that mattered was the pain that wracked his body. Pain that he refused let go, as he needed his wits about him, and refused all anesthetics Dick and Alfred begged him to take. He had to figure out what was going on.

Why was Luthor so ready to take him on? Why had he all of a sudden supercharged all of Gotham's most notorious criminals? What gave him the confidence to suddenly decide to take on the Batman?

"Any luck Bruce?" Dick Grayson, the one-time Robin, said as he approached Bruce Wayne, his mentor and loving friend.

"He has support."

"Who does?"

"Luthor."

"What do you mean?"

"He has support from someone, someone bigger than him, or someone as powerful as him. Someone he thinks can give him the strength he needs in order to fully expand his empire."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because he's inviting an affront from me. And that means he thinks he's ready for it. Which he hasn't been in the past. This, finally, means that someone has improved his confidence, probably by providing some kind of new weapon or technology or something like that."

"But where would he get help like that?"

"Off world maybe? Or some magical source. Maybe, even, from another dimension."

"So you're saying this is bigger than just politics?"

"Not for him. He would go to Darkseid himself and ask for help if it didn't mean a favor he could never repay."

"Of course your right. But would he go to such lengths for power?"

"He would go to any length. But he worries about image too. That's a kind of power in and of itself. If anyone knows that, I do. He wants popularity, so that he doesn't have to worry about the public. I can sympathize. That's why he won't do it straight up. He will do whatever he can, as long as he knew it would stay quiet. Most of the world still thinks of him only as a philanthropist billionaire."

"Sounds like Bruce Wayne," Dick tried at humor.

"Just more proof at how easy it is to keep the public blind."

And for a while, they were quiet. Both knew that despite the amazing leaps in logic just performed by the dark mastermind, more evidence would be needed to find anything out.

"You want me to check him out?" Dick offered, knowing the answer.

"Not alone. If he thinks he's ready for me, than he'll be more than ready for you." It wasn't a boast. It was fact. And with that, Bruce let his pain ease him back into sleep. He savored it, since this was the best sleep he'd had in years.


	9. A Helping Hand

The road had been flying by for hours. Logan loved the road at this speed. Every fiber of his being focused on staying alive, staying on the bike, tilting with the curves, turning with the road. It cleared his mind. All his troubles left while he was on the road.

But this time was different. For some reason, the Cap's face flashed in his mind over and over again as he rode. The Cap had always been a symbol of strength for all America. Despite the fact that Logan couldn't remember further back than fifteen years ago, he still felt almost like he had been raised with Captain America being a strong symbol for freedom and independence.

What could make him run to a backwater mutant like Logan who didn't have the strength to stand up to the worst enemies Earth had ever seen? But Logan did have connections. He had connections to some of the strongest forces and mutants on the planet. He knew, personally, many powerful mutants. And he would do whatever it took in order to help the Cap. But his faith had been shaken. If the Captain could be turned into a cowering mouse, how much better off would any of them be?

He didn't really pay much attention as he turned along the right back roads to his way to the Xavier Mansion. When he did finally come to the gates of the campus, however, he noticed that the gates opened right as he pulled in. He had that familiar feeling of being watched, but gave it no mind. Whenever he was this close to the Mansion, he had that feeling. Xavier had the power to watch him from all the way across the world, now that he had Cerebra.

"Logan," Jubilee's voice was happy, as almost always. She was older now, a young woman. She had actually been offered a position at the Xavier Institute, as a teacher.

"Jubilee," Logan smiled as he swung his leg off the bike, "how are you?"

As he stood up on both feet, he leaned into a hug.

"Great, how have you been?"

"Well, right about now, kind of busy. A friend came to me for some help with something, and I sent him here, mainly because I don't really know of anyone other than Xavier who might be of some help."

"That's right. Well, your 'friend' is here. He made it okay, though he seems a little rattled. Who is he?"

"It's kind of a long explanation. Is Chuck available?"

"The Professor? Yeah, he's been waiting for you in his office."

"Great. I'll talk to you later, okay? I've got to see him real quick."

"Yeah. Tonight, I'm taking some of the kids to the observatory, to find the Shi'ar homeworld. You want to come?"

"Sounds like a plan to me. I'll meet you in the Lounge at nine."

"Great, that'll give us about an hour and half to catch up on old times before we head off."

"See ya," Logan smiled. As he walked off, he remembered the years the two of them had spent together. She was just a kid then, a kid with a bone to pick with the folks who killed her parents. He had been there for her. He taught her some things he'd learned over the years, and he helped her get through her buried hatred, her buried pain.

It was late, but he had to see the Professor.

"Logan," Xavier's voice was soothing as Logan stepped through the doorway of Xavier's office. "It's been a long time."

"Sure has, Chuck. How's the Cap?"

"Frazzled. He's been through some very strange things. He's asleep now. I have the whole institute on standby. They know something's up, and are ready for anything."

"Good. I was going to hang out until we've figured things out."

"That's a good idea. You are the one he trusts, after all. I'm not sure we'd be able to help him without your help."

"So, where am I going to stay?"

"Your old quarters are available, if you want them back."

"I think I will. Thanks."

And the conversation was over. Time for chitchat was later. Now, it was late, and Xavier knew that he had to keep a newly established date. The two of them did get to catch up on old times. Apparently, Jubilee had been very busy. She got a Bachelor's in Fashion. She had been really interested for years in high fashion. It was a good thing she had been growing so much since they had last seen each other.

The observatory was fine. Boring, mostly. Logan was never into that stuff. But seeing the kids who were now going to the Institute was good. A lot of them had visible mutations, a lot of them didn't. It made him wonder where the world was going from here on out. It made him wonder just how they would grow up, whether the world they were growing into would be ready for them or not. Logan always doubted Xavier's wonderful vision for the future, but fought for it anyway. A noble cause, even if it is a lost cause, is worth dying for.

It was early in the morning by the time Logan got into bed. It still smelled like him under all the clean sheets smell.


	10. The Mystic Meeting

It was white. All around, it was white. Logan looked down at himself, and with surprise realized that he hadn't noticed that he was still in uniform. The Darkclaw costume hugged his body like a second skin; one that shielded him from most of the hazards of his chosen field of work: crimefighting.

As his eyes scanned the place around him, nothing seemed to help. All he heard were his own bodily functions. All he saw was white, white that went on forever. Nothing revealed anything.

"Hello?" He called.

"Who are you?" His own voice, strangely tinted by a crude accent, grunted back at him. He spun on his heels, lifting his claws to the ready, ignoring the spike of pain that came with them. What he saw was himself, claws raised at the ready, like his own. But the mirror image he was presented with wore no costume. The face seemed older, if that were possible in his flesh, as if the mirror image had weathered greater pain than he.

For some time, they were both speechless; their noses reached for answers, where there were none to be found. All they could smell were their own scents.

"I am Darkclaw," he told this mirror image. The other one tilted his head a bit.

"Nice to meet you. The name's Logan," and with that, the claws were drawn back into his own flesh, and the strange doppelganger's hand outstretched in greeting. Darkclaw withdrew his claws, but let his hands fall to his side. After a moment, the other's hand dropped. "Not much of one for bein' polite, are you?"

"What is this place?"

"Not a clue. Looks like some kind of illusion. Or some extradimensional construction."

"Perhaps some kind of communication between planes?" Another voice, one different from those heard so far, growled through the air. Both men spun, their fists up, their eyes finding the man decked in black. Darkclaw thought his suit had a remarkable resemblance to his own, in both utility and symbolism. What came to mind, however, was a bat most of all. Darkclaw had utilized the bat as part of his inspiration for his image, but this man seemed to stop at that.

"What is this, a Halloween party?" The other Logan said roughly.

"Do you know what this place is?" Darkclaw asked the man-bat.

"No more than you do, if my hunch is correct. But that is why we are all here. Someone has decided to show us."

"A very astute deduction, Batman," yet another voice rang out.

"Will you stop doin' that?" The other Logan grunted fiercely. A man that Darkclaw recognized as Dr. Strangefate stood about fifteen feet away from the three of them.

"You, I should have realized you'd be involved," Darkclaw stated darkly.

"I bear no ill will, Darkclaw, calm yourself."

"Your helmet, it resembles that of Fate's," Batman voiced his own observation.

"And the rest of you looks like Dr. Strange," Logan grunted.

"You are all correct."

"Yes, you are."

All three men turned to face two others.

"My colleagues, Fate and Dr. Strange. One of you should know one of us." Dr. Strangefate lifted both hands, each introducing yet another shadowy figure. Dr. Strange was the only one with his face revealed.

"We got that," Logan grunted. "What do you three magic freaks want with us?"

"Assistance." Strangefate answered curtly.

"What kind of assistance?" Batman seemed used to talking to those magically inclined.

"There are three individuals that are upsetting the balance of each of our three universes. One from each universe. The three of you are in key positions to stop their meddling. If they continue what they're doing, they can upset the balance between universes enough to cause the implosion of each."

"Who are these three men?" Darkclaw probed.

"You would know the one called Green Skull best," Strangefate answered.

"Batman, you would know Lex Luthor," Fate added.

"And you, Logan," Strange started.

"Let me guess, the Red Skull?" Strange only nodded with a smile.

"I've always liked you Logan," Strange added.

"Too bad the feeling's not mutual. How are we supposed to stop them?"

"They each have a machine, each in their respective strongholds, that has the power to bridge the gap between worlds. What it does, is create portals between dimensions. Interestingly, it needs something from the foreign plane to work, so that the machine can tune itself to the foreign plane's frequency. Then the portal becomes a tuning fork, emanating the foreign frequency. That is what is causing the imbalance. With the tuning fork method, each machine is interfering with its own universe's frequency. Every time they are used, they fluctuate their own space-time worse than the last time. It is not enough to simply destroy the machines. You must make sure that the machines are never made again." Strangefate explained.

"Sounds simple enough to me," Logan said sarcastically. Darkclaw was finding him both amusing, and annoying.

"Again, how are we supposed to do this?" Batman asked gravelly.

"Each of you has the best resources available to you. We do not exactly care ourselves with your methods, as long as you do it. For you, three, are the best candidates for this assignment, we have made sure of that." Fate responded.

"You're all always so high and mighty. Why don't you do something about it yourselves?"

"We are. We are coming to you. We have our hands full with other things, almost constantly. Like intergalactic super-intelligences that want to destroy our respective Earths. Like cross-dimensional predators wanting to suck the life-force out of every living being in our galaxy. And like demonic energies trying to empower dead bodies to life, hoping to turn Earth into a giant garden for the undead." Strange scolded. Logan only nodded quietly.

"Now that it is morning, we shall release you from our spell, but remember, you don't have much time. According to our estimates of how much they're using the gates, you have less than three months to stop them." Strangefate stated. "Be well, and do not fail us." And with that, everything faded away. Darkness enveloped them back into the embrace of sleep.


	11. An Old Friend

"This is a secure line, how'd you get a hold of it?" Wayne's voice on the other end of the line was angry.

"It's not as secure as you think. I'm calling in a favor," Darkclaw's voice was as stoic and flat as ever. On the other end, there was silence for some time. Darkclaw might have assumed the connection was broken, but he knew Bruce Wayne, and knew it wasn't a problem with the line.

"What's going on?"

"I need a location on the Green Skull. I need to know where he's hiding."

"You'll never get through. We can barely get near the bunker."

"Just tell me where it is."

"You arrogant fool, you'll get yourself killed."

"Not like that's bothered you before."

"It's in Siberia. How do I send you the latitude and longitude?"

"This line will work, just send the computer code. My system is already plugged in. Don't try any funny stuff. My software makes your systems look like the doodling of a five year old kindergartner."

"Stand by," Wayne's voice was so cold; Darkclaw knew he got to him with that last comment. The two of them never got along. After a moment, the line started to crackle and screech with computer-speak. Darkclaw's systems roared to life with a slight hum of cooling fans. Immediately, a map of Siberia filled the screen, a coordinate crosshairs swooping over a single point.

"Coordinates received," Darkclaw stated.

"Count us even," Wayne's voice was steely.

"You won't be saying that if I get out of there alive."

"You have to make it in, first."

"Remind me to be sorry to disappoint later."

And with that, the connection broke. S.H.I.E.L.D. would soon be changing their security and encryption systems.

"So, how's it look?" Sparrow was waiting for him to be ready.

"Download this data into your PDA. Start up the copter; we're going to be drudging through closets for skeletons."

"On it," Sparrow was in motion before her mouth closed. She was gone before he could rush her.

He had a moment of reflection. He had just asked a seventeen year old girl to get ready to enter the most dangerous situation in her life. A blazing war zone was waiting for them where they were going. He had been in similar situations in his life, situations he'd never forget, no matter how hard he might try.

But he was responsible for someone else now.

By the time she came back to tell him the copter was ready, the doubt was behind him, and the two of them got into the vehicle, the ground soon crawling away beneath them. This was going to be a terribly long flight. He needed her, so that they could rest in cycles. And she was ready. She was trained by one of the best. She would be an invaluable asset.


	12. Message in a Bottle

"You don't know who you're messing with," a furious, gravelly voice growled as Lex was jolted awake by a rough hand grabbing his silk pajama shirt, pulling him almost upright out of bed.

"How'd you get in here?" Lex's panic bled through his shell as easily as water through clenched fasts. Caught in such a moment of weakness, it was easy for him to lose control. "The defenses-"

"Sloppy."

"The dogs-"

"Drugged."

"-guards-"

"Detained."

"-systems-"

"Hacked."

Lex's security systems were the best in the world. His stomach clenched to realize that they didn't matter. By this point, however, he regained control, and restrained himself.

"You will be sorry for ever stepping foot into-"

"Shut up you pile of scum and listen," Lex could feel the fury building up inside at the very thought that anyone would tell _him_ what to do. However, the grip around his neck getting tighter did help him stay quiet. "You wanted war. You're the one who wants Gotham. You will never get it. You've tried before, you've failed before. If you want to play this game, I will play, and I will win."

And with that, Lex was thrown back into his bed. He immediately spun in bed to reach for the security button at his bedside. He only found that it was already blaring red in mockery of him. Batman had already pressed it, before he even woke Lex. And no one came. He turned to confront the masked vigilante, only to find an empty room and an open window, the curtains blowing in the night wind.

Lex's body still trembled with fear. To be so exposed. Humiliation filled his soul. Soon, however, he could feel it converting into rage, fueling his fury. How dare anyone, how dare _anyone_, try to scare _him_, Lex Luthor.

Batman would pay.


	13. The Cap Gets Back His Hat

"Ya look like you're already back on top of your game," Logan commented at the fully adorned Captain America. "That costume does wonders for ya, Cap. I figure you might feel a little more real with it on, more capable."

"Thank you, Logan," Captain America responded. He nodded, although Logan could tell he was still a little bit shaky. "I think it does help. It feels almost like I'm home, when I wear this suit, like I might be able to actually do what needs doing to get the job done."

Logan only nodded. "That's the point, Cap. State of mind is most of the battle, and you know that. You've been trained in the military just as I was. You know how important morale is in a conflict."

Captain America only nodded for a moment. Then he turned to his audience, which included Logan, Charles Xavier, as well as Ororo Monroe, Emma Frost, Jean Grey and Bishop. The three women, along with Logan himself, as he was the Cap's contact, and Bishop, as he would be the least expected of the X-Men, would be the strike force to accompany Captain America to the Avengers Headquarters. There were some pretty impressive agents working for the Avengers; the X-Men would more than have their hands full. With the psionic ability of the two women, Emma Frost and Jean Grey, concentrated on keeping the team in communication and perhaps throwing off the opposition, they should start off with the upper hand. All of them were capable of dealing out some damage if it came to a duke'em out type situation. Bishop almost looked forward to it, Logan could tell. Honestly, Logan wasn't sure he wouldn't appreciate a reason to cut through Iron Man's tin suit either.

"How do I look?" Captain America needed reassurance. Logan could feel the chills going down his spine. What could have possibly done this to one of the greatest soldiers and heroes the United States of America, one of the greatest nations in the world, has ever had? He could feel his stomach clench at the idea of going anywhere near the headquarters.

"Like a leader," Jean smiled.

"Like you could take on the world," Emma followed.

"Like an icon," Bishop nodded.

Logan was quiet for some time. He wanted the Cap to hear his words when he would utter them. Finally, he came to the point of sharing.

"Like a soldier," he whispered. Captain America's eyes grew cold and distant, as some part of himself remembered what it meant to be a soldier. What it meant to know an order would send you to certain death, and follow through with it anyway, just because it was your duty to follow orders. What it meant to put in an entire life's worth of sacrifice, to expect no more recognition than a medal that is only recognized behind black ops doors and under a quiet gravestone.

Captain America nodded, and then his eyes glazed over in a way that was familiar to Logan: his machine-gunning soldier mentality of pure cold and utter duty encased his psyche like an eggshell, like a nutshell holding dearly to its nut.

"Let's go," the words were that of a leader, that of a man that could take on the world, that of an icon.

That of a soldier.


	14. The Emerald Reaper

The two of them were thrown clear of the explosion as the 'Copter crashed into the earth. Sparrow might suffer from a couple of bruises from the fall, but other than that, Darkclaw knew that they'd be okay.

"I'm sorry," she frantically babbled, "I couldn't get that last one, I -"

"Don't worry about it, kiddo," Darkclaw was already preoccupied, knowing that the hunters, whoever they may be, would soon be coming after them. "You got us in a lot farther than I thought you would, and now our trek is shorter for it. We can't stop moving though, so let's go."

And with that, the two fell silent. The forest, cold and thick with pine needles, whizzed past them just as the ghostly visages of their breath did. No sounds except their breathing and the padding of feet on the ground. Darkclaw saw nothing and everything. His intense concentration allowed him to put most of his movements on autopilot while still empowering him to closely scrutinize any sign of trouble.

"Drop!" He warned. The two of them fell to their faces, a razor sharp disk flying above them. In the instant he saw it, he saw that it also had an explosive charge attached to it. He heard the panting off to one side, and saw the warmer air that surrounded someone breathing heavily. "There," he pointed.

A blast of blazing hot plasma fumed in the direction he pointed to, and in a moment, the target leapt in surprise towards them. He quickly rolled over and in one deft move, slid his claws out of their resting place and into the back, and lung, of the just fallen foe. He slipped them up through his spinal cord, and stood up, catching the disk as it came back to its thrower. Sparrow was already up by the time he swiftly pulled out its electronic triggering components.

Then they were off again. His claws were extended now, waiting for more blood. He could hear their thirst. In a moment, he crouched, seeing that no one was around yet, and looked down at his PDA, which was phasing in and out due to electrical interference. In between phases, he figured the map, and memorized it in an instant. He nodded, and looked up at Sparrow, who was breathing heavily yet.

A blast of plasmic energy broiled over his shoulder as Sparrow's outstretched hand spelled oblivion for another. Then about a dozen came out from the trees around them.

Darkclaw leapt towards the closest two, falling between them, his clawed fists taking each of them down with him. He stood, pulling his claws out of their hearts, and flipped back, letting a foot slam into the chin of the soldier coming for him. As he landed, he pushed himself forward, sliding his claws into the skull of the same soldier. As the body fell, he turned to see that another four had been taken out by Sparrow's sparkly hellfire. A soldier was coming up behind her as she sparred with one other. Darkclaw quickly moved behind him and slipped his claws into his liver, putting his other hand over the man's mouth.

"If they come for you within an hour," he whispered, "you might live. Otherwise, death." And he slipped his claw through the lower part of his spinal cord, cutting his legs off from his brain. The man slid to the ground, cursing.

"Let's go!" Darkclaw roared. They were wasting time, allowing them to react more easily. She nodded, and after blasting the face of a final soldier, sprinted with him away from the carnage.

Again it was silence, nothing but breath and footfalls.

The mere seconds tasted like hours, and when he saw the mine within the ground, he already knew it was too late to change course.

"Jump!" He screamed. She did, and when his body left the earth, it wasn't by choice. He crumpled to the ground, realizing that the broken bones, though would easily heal, would slow them down for a little while, long enough to be problematic.

With her help, he slumped up to his feet, and with his arm around her, limped along. He could hear feet surrounding them. He could tell that they were being watched, rather than stopped. They wanted to know whether or not this was a trick, or had they truly weakened the great Darkclaw.

Then he saw it, a vent, one that was probably connected to the underground Hydra network as a whole. As he saw soldiers with plasma rifles come out from behind trees, he dropped to the ground, taking Sparrow with him. Bright blasts of light flashed above them as he rolled her over, pulling the door up. He slipped down into the now-open hole, and after the bright light above, the crashing bloodlust, everything was pitch black.

They were sliding. It went down some ways. After a time, it leveled out, and they slid to a stop.

"Wayne," Darkclaw could hear Sparrow croak, breath barely escaping her frigid chest, tears trying to burn their way out. Her grip was iron, an embrace of desperate shock and need.

"I know," he whispered, stroking her hair. Part of him hated himself for subjecting her to this. She was a child. But another part of him knew that if she couldn't get a handle on herself, they would both die.

Sobs finally released her, allowing her to breathe in one huge gulp. Then she couldn't stop.

"I…I…I killed…." She couldn't finish it.

"I know," he continued to hold her. She needed to blow through this. There was no way for her to bury it, but they did have to get going. If they stayed here long enough, Hydra would set some kind of incinerator cycle on, to clear them out of the vents.

And then it was over. She calmed with a few seconds.

"Let's go," he whispered. He saw her nod in the dark. She was capable enough to squeeze around so she'd be crawling forward, but he would have to shimmy. After she turned around, the two of them progressed down through the vents. They came to a grate, one that seemed to go out into a janitorial closet. They were soon able to move freely as they let themselves out.

His tried to scan the corridor outside, but the walls were made of steel, and no heat would penetrate them. His sense of smell told of old scents, of older people, probably captured scientists. Hearing the door, he new no one was outside the closet. He nodded to Sparrow, who was about to blast the doorknob. He shook his head, and then just turned it.

Outside, they were in a stainless steel corridor, like a larger version of the vent shaft. He turned to Sparrow.

"I need you to find an out. I need you to be ready to get me out of here. I will find Green Skull, you have to find an escape route, and clear it."

She nodded, and after a moment, the two went their separate ways.

No one saw him. A ghost swept through the halls without notice. He finally reached the Inner Sanctum, the study where all the nefarious plans were hatched.

And there he sat. The Green Skull, his back to Darkclaw as Darkclaw slipped in through the door. The giant leather seat he sat in was spun towards the giant window, which overlooked the biggest work area in the compound.

"You didn't think you could get to me without a little help, did you?" The voice was that of a child's it was that high pitched, more screechy though, like a rat's. Green knobby fingers tapped the armrest.


	15. The Double Meeting

"You were expecting me," it was more of a statement than a question. Luthor sat at a small chair, one that seemed to be from the Middle East, a long time ago. His back was to the door, as if he wasn't afraid of who might come in. His eyes were on the fire, his hand around a glass of Chardonnay.

"I was," he responded, turning to the other man. He waved at another chair. "Please, have a seat, we have business to conduct."

Ra's Alghul, peered delicately at his newfound drinking companion, and sat anxiously.

"What could you possibly present to me that I cannot already attain?" Ra's question. Luthor simply smiled.

"Gotham," his eyes scanned the other man intently, waiting for some emotion to bleed through. Incredulity did come through.

"You think you can give me Gotham City?"

"I know that with my help, you can take it."

"I don't want it. I want to see it destroyed."

"Then destroy it. I will give you the tools you need, just come up with your plan, and we will execute it together."

"If it were a simple matter of planning…." Ra's began.

"You never really had the resources available to you to really do an appropriate job. Batman is an annoyance, with a great deal of resources, and so can repel you effectively. With my help, you can enhance your men enough that each will be capable of facing Batman by themselves, let alone in groups. You know this to be true. All you have to do is kill Batman, destroy Gotham."

"And what, pray tell, do you get in return for you great service?" Ra's wasn't a fool, and wouldn't be taken as one. His eyes narrowed on Luthor, who had the air of a televised host about to read _A Christmas Carol_ to the world. His chardonnay swirled in its glass; his cigar smoked gently, his face smiled weakly.

"I look to recreate Gotham in my own image," he finally whispered, as if sharing some divine mystery. Ra's simply glared at him.

"So now I am your grunt man? I am to do your dirty work? I refuse." He stood up, turning to go. "I have wasted my time."

"Wait," Luthor beckoned. Ra's turned to face him. "Think about it. Don't think of this as me trying to use you. Think of this as us working together towards a common goal: the destruction of Gotham City. You have the necessary manpower, I have the necessary technology. If we pool our resources, we can achieve our goals."

"You would recreate it," Ra's accused.

"Of course. You're only problem with it is its blatant criminality, correct? Well, I would not loose control of the new Gotham, it will know law, you must understand that. Any new image for Gotham has to be better than what it is now. You destroying it will leave me in the perfect position to clean up the mess."

"You play a dangerous game," Ra's stated finally. "I accept your offer." And with that, he left. Luthor said nothing more. He simply stared into his chardonnay.

-------

Batman looked over at his friend, his companion, as the two of them listened to the earpiece in Batman's cowl.

"This changes things," he told the other, the one whose feet were a foot above the rooftop.

Superman nodded. "We can take them now," he said.

"Not going to work," Batman shook his head. "Luthor pumped up his defenses since my last visit, not to mention the Kryptonite that he has laying around. Alghul too has men on the premise, and them along with everything Luthor's got right now is too much for us to handle."

Again Superman nodded. "So we wait."

"So we wait."


	16. The First Glimpse

"Where is everyone?" Bishop's whispered words effectively echoed what everyone else was thinking.

Stark tower was amazingly quiet, silent even, with no one coming out of the woodworks.

"Captain," Jean glanced at Captain America.

"I don't know. They've got to be here. Or maybe whoever is controlling them brought them somewhere else."

Logan didn't smell anything, didn't hear anything, and didn't feel anything but the vibrations of the subway trembling up his feet. As far as he could tell, there was no one in this building.

"There's no one here," he whispered, sure to make sure his words wouldn't drown out the sounds of someone truly careful.

In that moment, a whistling caught Logan's attention from behind. As he leaned forward and spun around to meet the threat, he saw Mjolnir, Thor's mighty hammer, smash through the corner of the walls, crumbs of Sheetrock flying everywhere. His lungs let rip a roar fitting of a Norse god, and Mjolnir kept swinging. Logan didn't even notice the pain as his claws slipped out between his knuckles, his legs coiling beneath him, getting ready to leap.

"He's got a mental block set up, someone's keeping us out of his head," Jean said heatedly, everyone jumping away from the threat.

"He probably cuts just like he always has," Logan responded, vaulting himself towards the god. Thor barely missed him with Mjolnir, and he overextended, throwing his weight off. Logan didn't pass up the opportunity, and slipped his claws between Thor's ribs. Thor roared some more, and finally connected with Logan's chest, his adamantium-plated ribs rattling his entire body, the force of it throwing him clear through the wall into the next room.

The world around Logan was ringing, only ringing, ringing louder than he had ever heard. Finally, his skeleton stopped trying to be a tuning fork, letting him pick himself up off the floor. As he tried to keep his head from ringing off his shoulders, he saw Thor, still swinging strong, sparring pretty evenly with Emma Frost, now in her living diamond form, and Bishop, who was barely making it through.

Clearly feeling the powerful miniature quakes Thor was sending through the building skeleton, Logan nearly missed the much quieter, far more sinister hum coming from somewhere in the building's depths. As he turned, he saw a vision of death and fury quietly dissolving the substance of the reality that held the building, let alone the building.

"Jean!" Logan called, "it's Scarlet Witch!"

"What's wrong with them?" Captain America bellowed, putting his indestructible shield between himself and the Norse god of Thunder.

Logan stepped back as the image of the Phoenix, the powerful force residing in Jean Grey, put itself between him and the reality-warping Scarlet Witch.

"I bet you they're all here, somehow, warped versions of themselves," Bishop stated what they were all thinking, between the life-threatening swings of Mjolnir.

"Wait," Captain America almost got his head thwacked off. "Can you feel that?"

"What?-" Bishop started.

"No," Logan nodded, "I feel it too. It's something in my bones, something really wrong about this place."

Together, the Captain and Logan ran from the room, letting the big hats fight the god and the witch. Each followed the other, without trying to. They each went where their instincts told them to, and happened to make the same moves. As they tumbled down the staircases, they came to about three stories lower than they had been.

Coming out of the stairwell, Captain America stated, "This is where Tony keeps his prototypes."

"I smell him," Logan growled.

"Smell who?"

And just that moment, they ran around the corner. "Duck!" Logan grunted, somersaulting across the floor as bullets whizzed behind him. Red Skull laughed gleefully with the machine gun in his hands. Captain America's shield saved his life again, stopping the bullets that were aimed for him.

"I won't let you stop me!" Red Skull screamed. He let the gun drop to his side in his one hand. "Don't you see the power I have now?"

Behind him shimmered something of a portal. It stretched between two obelisks slightly angled towards each other, like a sheet of taught rubber. The obelisks looked like something between an arched doorway and a tuning fork. The fabric of the portal shimmered with a greenish-blue tint, behind which swirled massive amounts of energy.


	17. The First Skirmish

Darkclaw said nothing.

Obviously the Green Skull knew he had made his way here, but he didn't want to reveal any information the Skull didn't already know. Slowly, the chair, with a squeak, turned to face Darkclaw. The Skull's face was in that perpetual leer it was always in and Darkclaw couldn't tell whether or not he was truly smiling.

"I have carefully tracked your position since you came over my waters. Even now, I have your partner under observation. You have trained her well, she is quickly taking one of the jets in the hangar."

Darkclaw maintained his silence, his eyes hidden behind mirrored lenses. He simply kept his attention on the Skull.

"You undoubtedly know," the Skull stood from his chair, his frame small and lanky, his age truly becoming him, a vile remnant of a man born a century ago, "that I have been orchestrating things in New Gotham to be slightly more of a handful than you're used to." He eyed Darkclaw, looking for some reaction. Logan had none but to simply stand, facing Luthor as the older man turned to look down into the work space below his wall to wall window. Darkclaw took a few steps to look through the glass himself, though closer to the other wall than to the Skull.

What he saw sent chills down his spine. Despite the inhumanly cold image his mask presented, Luthor seemed to be aware of Darkclaw's inner turmoil. He eyed Logan, the ever-present leer seemingly genuine now. "Do you know what this is?"

"An army, made after the robotic and cybernetic technologies developed by Magnus." His first words since he entered the office, emotionless and cold.

"More than that, you blubbering child!" Green Skull's demeanor flashed red-hot, his eyes wide as he growled at Darkclaw. "More than that!"

Darkclaw took his time, feeling the power he had on the Skull's emotions for the moment. "They are made after the model presented by Super-Soldier. An army of robotic replicas."

"Do you know what I'm going to do with them?" The Skull became pleased again, pointing a knobby, gnarled finger towards a pair of obelisks against the far wall. To Darkclaw, they seemed like both a tuning fork and an archway, lightly leaning towards each other.

Darkclaw remained silent.

The Skull rolled his eyes, frustrated with Darkclaw's seeming callousness towards it all. "I'm going to send most of them to another world." As he said this, a point of light began to glow between the obelisks. A hum of unnatural "wrongness" flushed through Darkclaw's body, though he kept as cool as ever. "Most of them. I'm sure you know of the parallel worlds theories that are out there? Well, they are surely true. We all have counterparts in many of them. I have come to appreciate one of my own counterparts and so have agreed to send him what my substantial resources can spare."

"Why are you telling me this?" Darkclaw asked darkly. At this, Luthor's laugh screeched through the room.

"Because, my dear man," he replied, "I have created for you a choice. You can stop many, if not all, of these bots here, as even the strong metals they're made of are no competition for the adamantium of your skeleton and save who knows how many unknown individuals in that world I'm sending them to; or, you can go and save your companion in the hangar. I have sent five of these bots after her. While her abilities are fair and powerful to themselves, you and I both know that they wouldn't be a match for five of these. I leave the choice to you."

Darkclaw's insides gripped themselves, turning to ice within him.

"Time runs short, my dear Darkclaw," the Green Skull said almost lazily, turning towards his chair, sinking into it again. "Her time."

The Skull was right. There was a chance that he could stop these machines from ever reaching their destination. But the Sparrow could not hold her own against five of them, not for very long anyway. As he thought to decide, he watched as the pinpoint of light between the obelisks grew into a membrane of reality, behind which swirled great amounts of energy. He saw as in that swirl, forms began to clear and, even from across this distance, he saw a flash of a face that looked like his. He growled, spring his fists up, backhanding his now sprung claws through the glass, kicking the new score marks. As the glass shattered out, he flung himself out of the office, his cape stiffening for him to glide into a row of the robots. As he sliced his claws through the inner workings of one bot, he reeled as Green Skull's screeching laughter could be heard all over the giant room.

The other bots caught on pretty quickly. Immediately after he took down his first, three of them blasted him with laser bolts similar to Super-Soldier's heat vision. His chest-plate started to scald his chest, burning his skin. Darkclaw saw red, diving onto the offending bots, slicing their eyes out. Finally, as the rest caught on, he realized that he had made as much of a mark as he was going to. He quickly found a door out. As he escaped out through that doorway, he heard the Skull's voice over some kind of P.A. system, screeching, "let him go! Return to your original mission parameters!"

He didn't stick around long enough to hear the rest. His feet carried him dependably towards the dot on his H.U.D. display, where Sparrow's transponder was supposed to be. Carving his way through doors when he had to, bounding around corners and sprinting down hallways, he finally came to the room Sparrow was in. He carved his way through the door, squinting as a blast of sparkling plasmoid energy flashed brilliant against the cindered form of one of the Super-Soldier replicas. She was a whirlwind of dodging passion, her evasion a form of dance, a war-song made manifest.

Darkclaw eagerly joined the dance when he jumped on the back of one of the bots flying by, its back to him. He roared as he sliced off the arm that reached back to grab him, then ripped open its back, tearing at the connections and wires with his tightened grip. He flipped off as the bot shot for the floor, spinning as he could to meet the next one with the heel of his boot. His whole skeleton thrummed as the murderous machine took the blow to its chest, gripping his leg like a vice, its fingers pressing into flesh like it were clay.

Darkclaw roared in rage and pain, the blood rushing to his head as the bot quickly spun him, flinging him across the hangar. Skidding along the floor, Darkclaw growled and threw himself back to his feet. Some cool part of his mind noted as Sparrow had already felled two of the bots before he got there, and was now facing the two that were left with aptitude and skill. He noted as she began to herd them together, using her plasmoid energy as more cover than weapon: the bots were resistant to the concussive blasts and high temperatures of her plasmoid energy.

With most of their attention on her, Darkclaw easily ran in an arc. Skillfully, Sparrow used her plasmoid energy to push them into a mirroring arc, directing them towards him. With a final veil of light between them and him, they burst through the plasmic energy, to find a Darkclaw sprung in the air, descending upon them like death itself. His claws found each of their chests, twisting as they entered, lodging themselves in them as he fell into them. He was heavier than he looked and the unexpected weight threw off their trajectories. As they all tumbled onto the floor, skidding together and all over the place, Darkclaw strained to hold onto them, finally opening up gaping holes in the chests as he pulled his claws free.

The first stood up, not even to regain its bearings as Sparrow put an open hand into its new, gaping hole, filling its insides with scorching plasmoid energy. Darkclaw rolled away from the flashing bot, light flashing out of its eyes and seams, trails of smoke curling around it as it fell to the ground. The second bot remained twitching on the floor, grasping at its new open hole. Sparrow made short work of that one too.

"Let's get out of here," Darkclaw growled, trying not to think of what the twenty five that survived to the other world were doing right now and he tried not to think of who was on the other end to have to deal with them. Sparrow nodded vigorously, jogging towards one of the last intact fighter jets, dropping herself as she jumped in into the pilot's chair. Darkclaw got the gunner's seat, which he dropped himself into a split second after Sparrow did. The cockpit quickly shut and, with a rumble of the engine, they rolled out of the hangar doors, taking off almost vertically from the short runway outside.

Despite the surface to air missiles, Darkclaw couldn't help but to feel like they were home free now.


	18. A Legendary Event

"What are you going to do?"

Batman eyed Superman, standing on the rooftop across from the mall. "Stop him."

"He's got the suit. And Kryptonite. Not to mention about fifty of Ra's ninjas, all of them souped up with LuthorCorp tech."

"I know the odds." Batman said simply. "But he's got twelve hostages, all of whom are depending on me."

"They'll kill you," Superman shook his head.

Batman turned to face his brightly colored friend. "I have a plan."

--

The door squeaked as it opened, though the dark form of Batman couldn't hide from its glass transparency. He stepped into the building, walking with his cape wrapped around him, his face stone as he strolled deeper into the mall. The dark forms of ninjas shifted like shadows on the second floor balconies, his every move tracked and noticed. As he walked on, he came to the central area, where a dozen men and women were kneeling, lined up with their hands on their heads.

The Joker's gleaming armored form was standing behind them, his head tilted as he scanned Batman, a lopsided grin on his face.

"Hello, Batty," his voice was a bit squeaking, though it carried all the menace in the world.

Batman said nothing, only tilted his head to indicate that he had scanned the room, that he knew how many he faced. As he returned his gaze to the Joker, he noticed the sounds of several ninjas landing around him.

"Have you come to play?" The Joker seemed nearly incapable of holding in his laughter, it leaked out around his words. Batman just stood there.

As the ninjas descended, he held his own for a while. He had all the same training they did and effectively parried about five of them. As one of them connected, however, he fell to his knees and skidded along the ground. The hit had been enhanced. Batman gasped as he recovered, picking himself up. He kept at it, matching most blows with his own, as each blow connected, he began to weaken, each one having the wallop of a sledge hammer. He began to gasp for air as the fight went on.

Like sharks in water, the ninjas began to smell blood and quickly tried to move in for the kill. Five of them came in a coordinated assault, attacking Batman from all angles. He began to falter, slipping to his knees. As they got closer, victory almost assured, it was as if a bomb had gone off between them all, as they all flew to the far reaches of the hall, Batman standing, a slight grin on his lips. It was as if nothing had ever happened.

"What's this?" Joker giggled. "Superbat? You think you can fool me?" He jumped over the hostages, reaching into some compartment in his suit, a green glow twinkled between his fingers. Batman's arm barely seemed to move, but in a second, the hand holding that chunk of kryptonite burst open, the green rock flying through the air.

As Joker followed the rock with his eyes, he growled as Batman's form swung across the hall, catching it in the air. Out of frustration, Joker looked back to where Batman was just standing, the spot on the floor empty, ninjas all around staring with wide eyes. He looked up back as Batman landed by a window, which he broke with his elbow. "You don't know anything!" Batman roared. "You think you can stop me with this??" He laughed as he waved the kryptonite around. "You think you know who I am?? What I can do??" With that, Batman tossed the kryptonite out the window, laughing a bit hysterically, turning to toss a smoke grenade into Joker's face.

Joker roared in anger. "This isn't possible, you fools!" He seemed to be screaming at the ninjas, who were already backing out of the room. "Batman can't do this!" But they were already gone, though through the cloud of smoke, Joker had no way of knowing.

With a stunning clang, Joker was flung out of the cloud of smoke, across the room where he came crashing to the floor. He was up in a second, but Batman was already on him, cascading him with thundering blows that began to loosen the suit on Joker's scrawny form.

"No!" Joker roared as the suit nearly exploded away from his body. Collapsing, Joker looked up at Batman with a face full of hatred. "This isn't possible. I know what you are!"

Laughing, Batman picked him up by the lapels, lifting him to be face to face. "You don't know anything," Batman scoffed. With a quick punch to the head, Joker was put down to the ground, unconscious.

Slowly, confidently, Batman strolled out the front door, out onto the street. Using his grappler, he lifted off into the night.

--

"That seemed to work out okay."

"Our timing was perfect. You were great in catching the kryptonite for me. With the smoke grenade and the other distractions, our pass-offs were perfect."

"Joker is not convinced."

"He wasn't meant to be. But, the ninjas? They'll think twice next time."

"Thank you for your help."

"Of course."


	19. Confusion of Worlds

For a brief moment, Logan could see shapes of people behind that film of swirling blue energy. Making more sense of them, he recognized the dark one as one of the costumed freaks from his dream. It looked like Darkclaw, if Logan remembered his name correctly, had his hands full for the moment. The others seemed to be flying, reminding Logan eerily of Sentinels. As Darkclaw's face came into full view, Logan knew he saw him. Then, as if something scared him, Darkclaw turned and ran to the side, out of sight. Those figures, probably robots, by the look of it, turned now and started to fly towards him.

Red Skull's screeching laughter filled the room as android after android with bright red, white and blue markings all over them flew into the room from that other world. As about twenty of them came through, the fabric dissipated, like steam over a pot of boiling water.

And then the world exploded. At least, the local one around Logan did. Something scorched him on his side, top to bottom. What a wake-up call! Wolverine spun to face the threat and roared when he realized that this was actually a robot like a Sentinel. He leaped forward, his claws slicing through the machine's outer shell like tissue paper. This robot was torn to shreds before the others began to see him as a threat. Most of the robots' attention was on him now. He knew how much of a mistake it was they were making: they seemed to have written off Captain America off as a non-threat. As their eyes began to glow, Wolverine stopped thinking about Captain America. He stopped thinking about much at all except the pain.

The pain was probably the worst he had ever felt. His skin was almost completely gone, the adamantium plates on his bones heating to unimaginably painful levels. He would have screamed if his diaphragm could pull on his lungs, if they could hold air. His legs collapsed out from under him, crumpling him upon the floor.

And then it was over. As soon as he was able, Wolverine looked up to see Captain America smiling, catching the shield as it returned to him. He had ricocheted it just right, just so that it would strike each of the robots in the different places that would make them aim their new beams at each other. In a few brief flashes, they were all slag.

"Are you alive?" The Captain seemed so at ease. He was like a force of nature, a power of confidence so powerful it made everything seem comical. Wolverine grunted.

"For now. I felt like questioning that for a second." He told the truth. If those bots had been left to their own devices, he would have just been an adamantium skeleton. Captain America nodded, then tilted his head, as if he was listening to something.

It wasn't as if they were being quiet upstairs. Even through three floors, Wolverine could hear the crashing and smashing going on. He tried to breathe, air getting into his lungs. Eventually, as the skin began to grow back, he tried to stand up. He glanced down at himself and sighed.

"It took me weeks to grow my hair out that long."

The Captain chuckled, "I think your hair's the least of your worries." He glanced down at Wolverine's bare form.

"Clothes are quicker to replace," he shrugged. "I'm sure you know where we can get some, you work here."

Captain America nodded, moving away and indicating that Wolverine follow. A few turns and they came to a small supply room. The Captain took out a few sweats, a hoodie and some pants.

"Sorry I don't have more for you."

"It'll do," Wolverine got in them, "for now."

Settled, the two made their way slowly up to the top floor, where the others were supposed to be. As they got closer, they grew more cautious, a few crashes saying that while the fight might be almost over now, it was still in its dying throes.

They came across Emma Frost, in her living diamond form, looking, for everything, exhausted. She jerked up at their entrance, but quickly released her tension when she saw who it was. Thor and Iron Man, Iron Man's suit broken severely in several places, lay at her feet. Bishop was knocked out in the corner. Scarlet Witch and Phoenix lay sprawled across from each other, their part of the large room scorched and when surveyed closely, it seemed as if pieces of furniture and other items were warped into the most bizarre forms.

"Weren't you wearing different clothes when you went down there?" Emma whispered ironically as she eyed Logan. Slowly she began to darken into flesh, her skin becoming pink with exertion.

"It's a long story," Logan chuckled.

"But with an important conclusion," the Captain added. "Red Skull's behind this all."

"So what do we do?" She looked at him, as if dreading the idea of more combat.

"We get these guys out of here," the Captain indicated his fallen comrades.

"We'll get them onto the Blackbird," Logan finished.

The three of them nodded and started to move, slowly grasping at their comrades' unconscious bodies, pulling them towards the roof.


End file.
